The young person slurps,
and the old people are due respect.
Often sometimes,
and some people whom come west.
Coming home to the east with tails,
of crying and abusive language.
More than a few and few we are alike.
To you I've heard and seen I speak.
Because of how I came
they thought I was.
Unsociable the rising sun
the surface white.
And the grave was dug
before I came.
Upon the hearse,
each flowered garland held
and yellow caked.
They hurry come,
when I do not two go.
And ask me why I groan,
I heard the woman make.
Each voice it makes me tremble.
But I passed by that,
and learned that western woman.
Some that come have better taste.